


Senses

by roselightsaber



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, NSFW, No Plot/Plotless, Overstimulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-13 00:33:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9097660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roselightsaber/pseuds/roselightsaber
Summary: Chirrut is oversensitive and Baze adores him. Business as usual. Plotless spiritassassin fluffporn.





	

“ _Please_ …”

This amuses Baze more than anything else. Granted, there’s nothing about Chirrut he doesn’t simply adore, no little quirk of the other that doesn’t bring a smile to his face. But Chirrut, though he swings wildly between devout spirituality and demanding stubbornness does not often _beg_. In fact, Baze doesn’t think he’s ever witnessed this particular facet of his personality before, and he’s honored to have the chance.

There’s plenty else to be distracted by. Chirrut’s upper body is bare, which by Baze’s reckoning is diversion enough all on its own, all taught muscle and skin too soft to belong to someone who spent so much time tracking down trouble for the fun of the fight. His breath is heavy, ragged, and he looks completely opposite from his usual air of spiritual, meditative control. Chirrut’s senses are incredibly sharp, trained over the years and honed even more after he lost his sight, and Baze is doing his best to overload each one, like pouring too much charge into a circuit, until he just can’t take any more. It might sound cruel, except that the nearly nonstop stream of soft, pleased sounds coming from Chirrut has Baze fairly certain that the other is just as curious as he is to see how much he can stand.

“What did you say?” He doesn’t wait for an answer before going right back to work blowing out those sensory fuses one by one–the current best tactic seems to be mouthing at the pulse point under his sharp jawline. He sucks on the sensitive skin and gets just the reaction he was hoping for, Chirrut’s hands tangling a little more deeply in his hair, legs squeezing around his hips, and– _oh_ –that sound. It’s not easy to tease him like this; he’s not exactly feeling patient himself. But he’s not done yet, and neither is Chirrut, so rather than relent, he slips a hand between them and runs a rough palm over his chest and slowly, _slowly_ down his abdomen, feeling terribly self-satisfied at the sensation of goosebumps rising in his wake.

Chirrut arches off the bed beautifully, craving more contact even while they’re this close. That narrow waist is too tempting, and Baze instantly redirects his attention, leaning back and sliding both hands down his torso lazily to lie on either side of his body. The other doesn’t want to break contact, hands sliding from his hair down his neck, his bare chest, over his biceps, Chirrut’s equivalent to not being able to keep his eyes off him. And there it is again, now that he’s moved away, now that Chirrut can’t get enough of a grip on any part of him, or breathe in his scent up close, or listen to his breathing: a little sound of protest, and then, “Please, Baze…”

“That’s what I thought you said.” It’s not that he’s unmoved, it’s just that he’s just noticing (for the hundredth time, but it’s no less impressive) how small Chirrut’s waist looks with his large hands on either side of him, how no matter how strong he knows he is, Baze sees such fragility in him when they’re like this. It plucks at all those protective nerves within him–but it also kind of makes him want to toss him around a little. He grins at the thought, and Chirrut reaches out to touch his face to ensure he can’t get away with it.

“I’m not begging, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Did I say that?” He kisses his palm. “Although–it did sound a _little_  bit like you were begging.” He traces the lines of muscle over Chirrut’s hips, tugging his pants down a little bit to dip those teasing, ticklish touches lower still. Chirrut is so visibly hard already that Baze almost gives up on teasing him altogether–almost. Slender hands alternate between twisting in their blankets and touching any inch of Baze he can reach; he’s trying to resist touching himself, which draws another smug little smirk from Baze. “Come to think of it, maybe I’m just confused since I’ve never heard you use that word before…” He dips his head to kiss the hollow of his throat and chuckles against his skin when that comment earns him an extremely halfhearted swat on the arm. Even that laugh seems to draw a shiver from Chirrut–the vibrations perhaps? The pitch of his voice? Another mystery of Chirrut that’s worth exploring.

He leans close enough to Chirrut for his lips to brush his ear as he speaks, grunting when the other tugs his hair again. “So impatient, love,” He purrs, barely stifling a much less seductive chuckle at the literal gasp Chirrut lets out, then completely giving in to laughter at the total indignation written on his partner’s face when he realizes just how determined Baze is to tease him.

“It’s not that funny,” He complains, though the smile on his face tells a different story, even if he tries to hide it by turning to him for a kiss.

Baze obliges, but he’s not going to let him get away that easily, either. “You know _I’m_  not blind, right?”

“No, I know. If you couldn’t see, maybe you’d stop admiring me so much and f–” That last word is lost to the censorship of Baze’s hand planted firmly over his mouth, but it sounds suspiciously like it fell apart into laughter anyway.

“I’ll admire as much as I like.”

As soon as his hand is back on Chirrut’s chest, smoothing soothingly over his skin, the other can’t resist bickering back at him again, even if the words come out all faint and pleading as he’s distracted once more by the almost overwhelming sensation of Baze touching him all over. “You’re teasing me.”

“Because you beg when I do.” Simply answered, but perfectly truthful. “And I like it.”

Chirrut actually looks dimly surprised at this straightforward disclosure. For someone so eager to tease and tempt him for what felt like hours, Baze is usually far more reserved with such information about himself. “You do?”

“Shh.” Shushing Chirrut was never effective–unless, it turns out, he’s close enough for a little scruff of facial hair to brush against his cheek, coupled with a hand squeezing at his waist. A good trick to remember, Baze thinks, though for now he considers the fact the other is still bothering to speak an indication he should be working harder. He’s still half-dressed, for one thing, which is entirely too much, so, sitting back again, he gives the garment a tug. Even that has Chirrut groaning, from fabric moving against his skin or the sudden coolness of exposure to air he’s not sure, but it’s fascinating and beautiful and he pauses to kiss him hungrily before Chirrut finishes kicking them off.

Chirrut has his arms around his neck now, panting and pleading, and Baze wonders how much is genuine impatience and how much is playing along now that he knows how much Baze likes it. But that’s not such an important distinction now that he can hardly control himself anyway, and he knows that no matter what, Chirrut always _wants_  him, sincerely. It’s a deep-down satisfaction he can hardly process; for someone so starved of affection and intimacy for so much of his life, the mere knowledge that they are so drawn to each other, body and soul, is overwhelming and gratifying. “Please,” Chirrut murmurs again. The desperation in his hands clutching at Baze’s shoulders feels too real to be put on for Baze’s benefit, somehow even more telling than his hips rocking against him. “Don’t make me wait any more.”

“You like it, too,” He replies knowingly, kissing his temple. Chirrut sighs dramatically, as if the very thought of pleasure is exhausting, and Baze laughs again, against his neck. He gives him a slow stroke at last, smirking with satisfaction as Chirrut’s whole body shudders and draws closer, and he groans as if he’s never been touched before. The smaller man dots Baze’s chest with kisses as he catches his breath, and Baze takes the moment to bask in his attention, though that’s not his focus today–another day he’ll gladly give in to the reverent way Chirrut touches him, the way he seems to measure and praise his larger frame with his hands all at once. The thought gives him a chill but for now he’ll remain relatively unselfish.

He leans back to get a better look at him as he strokes him, fascinated by the usually disciplined man looking so debauched. Fascinated might be a slight understatement, he considers, reaching down to touch himself as his eyes roam over Chirrut’s flushed skin. Slim hands, lithe arms don’t let him languish, watching him, for too long, instead yanking him close again, strong despite the way he’s trembling. “Not so far,” He complains again, and this time Baze doesn’t turn it around to tease him. Chirrut needs a little grounding and that’s something he’s too familiar with to needle him about it. He presses an urgent kiss to his lips that seems to bring the overwhelmed man back from wherever Baze had sent him spinning off to. “Stay close,” He whispers, holding Baze’s face in both hands. “Please stay close.”

“Not going anywhere,” He promises, shifting to lay on his side and pull Chirrut along to face him. Tightly, securely, he embraces him a moment, feeling his heartbeat, his breath, his shaky fingers walking up his rib cage. When the other seems steadier, when he tilts his head to trail a line of kisses down Baze’s neck, he touches him again, slow and steady. Steady, that is, until Chirrut’s hand is snaking down the front of his pants to return the favor, then it’s anything but–not that Chirrut would complain. No more words are shared but they don’t need those anyway; kisses and groans and nips at the shoulder (Chirrut to Baze) or a hand looping under a slim thigh to hitch it higher on his hip (Baze to Chirrut) are far better encouragement.

All that teasing but Baze still comes first, which is just fine for now but he’s sure he’ll hear about it later–Chirrut teases just like he fights, no opportunity going to waste. But he always comes apart under Chirrut’s touch, so Baze thinks that the other has no reason to look _so_ self-satisfied as Baze murmurs his name over and over, his hand stilling on Chirrut’s length a moment as he rides out waves of pleasure. Chirrut is shamelessly impatient, and a sound dangerously close to a whimper escapes him as he ruts against Baze’s hand. “Sorry,” Baze whispers gruffly, sending another thrill through the other visible in the goosebumps rising across his neck. “Did you want something?”

Chirrut wants to argue, Baze knows, he can tell he really does–wants to fuss at him and call him a cruel tease and maybe give his hair a tug. But what comes out instead is just– “ _Please.”_ Then, more quietly, “You bastard.”

Baze laughs loudly though he’s hardly caught his breath, and strokes him faster, bringing him over the edge with him just moments later. Chirrut clings to him, tightly, like he might fly off their little world from the force of the feeling alone. Baze milks him of every last drop and holds him through every last wave of sensation and then some, nuzzling the crown of his head adoringly as they share the afterglow.

“Love you,” Chirrut mutters after a while, mostly muffled by Baze’s shoulder which he’s snuggling into like his life depends on it. Baze is a little surprised. Of course he knows that the other loves him, and in fact can’t quite remember a time where that wasn’t a mutually understood fact between them, but Chirrut doesn’t say it aloud much, even less so without prompting from the other. It sends a fluttering feeling right through Baze as if he were a schoolboy with a crush.

“I love you too, Chirrut.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how to end dirty fics. Sorry.


End file.
